Never Meant To Pry
by RattyCatty
Summary: Unable to sleep, Emma goes for a walk and sees something she shouldn't have. Neverland Swan Queen smut.


**So this is sort of crappy but I wanted to write it. I apologise for not updating anything for so long. School's crazy right now and for a while I didn't have Word or even computer access. Also my muse has just completely disappeared as it often does when school's in session and I have loads of shit to do. Apologies/you're welcome. I hope this is ok.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Once Upon A Time.**

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><p>She hadn't meant to pry; she'd only meant to calm her racing thoughts with a short walk just out of the perimeter of the camp. The walk was anything but what she had wanted it to be.<p>

Emma Swan pushed aside a low-hanging vine, the large, waxy leaves smearing the thin layer of quickly-cooling sweat that coated her skin. After laying on the ground, glaring up at the green canopy for what felt like forever, she'd realised sleep was futile and had decided to go for a stroll. Unrelenting panicky thoughts ricocheted in her mind, not allowing her even a second's rest.

So here she was, trudging through the sticky Neverland jungle alone unable to rest for a minute while her son was at risk. The Saviour knew it was ridiculous; she knew she had to rest in order to save Henry – a moment of stupidity on this death trap of an island could cost them everything – but still she found herself awake and sick with worry, anxiety bubbling violently inside her.

Then she stopped.

A desperate whimper floated through the dense jungle. It wasn't part of the incessant sobbing of the Lost Boys that could be heard every night. No, this was much different. The sound was soft and feminine, and somewhat familiar, though Emma couldn't put her finger on it.

She crept cautiously forward in the vague direction of the noise. Her breath hitched in her chest and her heart pounded, but still she moved forwards. If she was stuck with the ludicrous 'saviour' title, she might as well damn act the part.

The Saviour caught sight of slight movement in the trees ahead, and she came to a halt. Drawing her sword, Emma Swan pushed some branches out of the way to get a better view.

What she saw made her cheeks flush, made her mouth drop open, made electric heat course through her and terminate, wet and throbbing, between her thighs.

Regina Mills, the tightly-wound, unshakeable and generally-together woman, sat beneath a thick tree, her head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut. Plump, painted lips were parted and her breaths came in shallow pants, the occasional moan or grunt slipping from her. One hand kneaded a breast through the silk of her shirt, whilst the other was hidden inside her leggings. Emma couldn't see the hand between Regina's thighs, but the rhythmic movements of her arm made everything very clear.

The Saviour knew she should turn around, head back to the camp or just go anywhere that wasn't _here, _but her feet refused to move. It was as if she were glued to the jungle floor, and all she could do was stare at the woman quickly coming undone before her.

So Emma just watched as the fallen Queen carried on her ministrations, completely unaware of the company, and eventually went rigid as she flew over the edge. Her mouth fell even wider, and a throaty moan escaped her as she got her release. Her hand slowed its frantic thrusting before finally coming to a complete stop, and the woman's entire body slumped tiredly against the tree. The perfect, erotic arch of her back was gone, and now, Emma just saw an incredibly exhausted, lonely woman desperate for something to take her mind off her fears.

Regina stayed that way for a while, her head down and eyes shut, her laboured breathing gradually evening out. The Saviour thought for a moment that she'd actually fallen asleep right there and then, her hand still resting between her legs. But then the brunette's head tilted up, eyelids fluttered open and it was clear she was awake. Emma backed up as quietly as she could, eager to get away before the mother of her son realised she wasn't alone.

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><p>The next night, it happened again.<p>

Emma found herself wandering through the mess of greenery, unable to sleep. She'd told herself she was just walking to take her mind off of Henry, but she knew there was more to it.

Just as she had the night before, she heard a soft moan and went to check it out. This time, she found the brunette on her knees, leaning forward on one shaking arm, head down and the other hand playing between her legs. Slender fingers stroked the crotch of her leggings, teasing herself through the thin fabric before sliding up and beneath the waist band. Emma felt the space between her own legs tighten painfully.

Regina groaned long and low, her lips parting to mumble one name: _Emma._

The blonde did a double take.

Had she heard right? Did Regina Mills just moan her name whilst touching herself? That couldn't be right. It must be wishful thinking. The Saviour shook her head, trying to ignore the agonising ache caused by her intense arousal.

It wasn't long before the brunette came, her back arching and her head flying back in ecstasy. Emma drank in the sight, but still she wondered. Had the brunette actually whispered her name? That one question haunted her for the rest of the night.

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><p>It became routine.<p>

Every night, after saying goodnight to the others, Emma curled up in her makeshift bed that consisted of a blanket or two and her own coat as a pillow. She restlessly shifted positions, finding herself unable to get comfortable. Her thoughts were plagued with the danger her son was possibly in, and, more recently, the memories of a certain brunette in various compromising positions, panting and groaning until she brought herself to orgasm, whimpering the name of the blonde Saviour. Tired and frustrated, Emma would get up and go for a walk, never straying too far from the camp but not hovering too nearby either. She would sort through her thoughts, and then she would 'stumble' across Regina.

She never made herself known, always sticking to the shadows, terrified of what might happen if she was found out. She had no doubt it would be grossly humiliating for both parties.

Tonight, though, was different.

This time, when Emma recognised the signs that meant the brunette was getting close to the edge – the way her moans began rolling off her tongue completely unbridled, how her breaths huffed out of her hard and fast, how her arm moved more and more vigorously, pushing deeper into herself with every thrust. She slipped out of the shadows, appearing just in front of the brunette and kneeling down in front of her.

Regina's eyes flew open as if she sensed the Saviour's presence, and her eyes widened with shock, the embarrassment evident on her flushed face. However, still her hand toyed between her legs, never ceasing its movement. The brunette was too far gone: she couldn't have stopped, even if she wanted to.

"Emma!" she gasped roughly.

Bright green eyes ran over Regina's body. Emma had seen it a dozen times by now, but still, it sent firey heat rocketing to her core.

Before she knew what she was doing, she took the brunette's face in her hands and kissed her hard. Mouths opened wide, warm tongues exploring desperately, crashing against each other, licking and tasting. Regina moaned lowly, one hand tangling in blonde locks, the other moving faster against herself. Fingers slid frantically over the sensitive bundle of nerves and pushed further inside herself. God, she was so nearly there –

Regina found her hand yanked away from her wetness, and she whimpered at the loss of friction. "Emma," she breathed, uncharacteristically needy.

A single finger was placed on her mouth, hushing her. The Saviour took the brunette's hand and slowly, torturously licked each finger clean of the arousal that coated it. Then, Emma's skilled fingers were on her, in her, and in moments, she was thrown over the edge, coming hard as wanton moans were muffled by persistent lips.

Regina dropped her head to rest at the crook of the blonde's neck while she recovered from her orgasm. One hand was still tangled in the long, golden hair, and she used that to ground herself, slowly come back to her body, back to reality.

No, Emma Swan had never meant to pry, but in that moment, it was hard to regret it.


End file.
